


The transience of smoke

by 35391291



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Gen, Magic, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8398612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/35391291/pseuds/35391291
Summary: There is a magic here that keeps them close and safe. And was that thunder, or simply a heartbeat? It might be love, like a blue sky cracking.
A short story about spells and smoke rings.





	

Another evening at Starecross, the sun setting slowly. The smoke from Childermass's pipe curls up and sets out on a journey that is over too soon, like the fading afternoon. Tonight there is a defying light in his mouth, demanding to be noticed. It is fleeting and fragile. But why hasn't he seen it before? It reminds Mr Segundus of a crisp autumn day, when the hours glow, as if they were made out of fire. When the earth feels alive. When all is quiet, even if only for a season. The air is sharp and cold around them, and it makes him sharp as well. Aware. He knows he can breathe easy now, and yet, he can't. There is too much here that does not want to lose.

The smoke feels like a spell now, one he can't control. A waltz in cobwebs, a warm alcohol-clad dream, almost drawn by the heat of a pistol. Bird screams and two-steps, this seems to be the language of tonight. There is a mysterious landscape, and a path, somewhere out in the distance. His hands stumble like sandpaper, but there is no more waiting now. Time has come, and it is time to drown. He has made a brave offering out of his heart: a rusted tin wrapped by the arms of books and letters. But what if there is no path left for him? How to go on, when all he hears are shadow steps? His heart has never sounded so cold and lonely. And it might not be enough.

The smoke is intoxicating, and it should feel wrong, but it does not. It brings something unknown, but not unpleasant. It makes the air feel alive, like a storm. The sunset retreats into the small coals hanging from Childermass's mouth. Mr Segundus breathes in, slowly, almost expecting a hint of fear. But it is just the night, closing in like dust. The smell of tobacco seems almost friendly now, like a safe place to hide. It makes a path for him, _towards_ him. And it seems to know him well: his maps of pain, his blind fingertips in flames, his pocketfuls of dreams, yearning to be lost. And found.

And something inside him still knows _it_ by heart. He finds himself again, and ties whispered spells to the smoke rings as they rise, travel far and fade. They fly away like tiny messages, made up by words still unlearnt. There is a magic here that keeps them close and safe. And was that thunder, or simply a heartbeat? It might be love, like a blue sky cracking. If it is so, then, it is a cherished gift, one that he might never be able to repay. But perhaps, all is precisely as it should be, in this tiny corner of the world. Perhaps it was meant to be this simple, like sigils drawn with ash, and set free with a single breath. Childermass puts out a match, and they sit together in the dark. It is not unkind now. Night after night, the silence feels right, like fire.


End file.
